


Butterscotch Brown

by vextant



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Natasha Romanov Is Not A Robot, Natasha Romanov is a little shit, No Spoilers, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Pre-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-25
Updated: 2018-04-25
Packaged: 2019-04-27 22:34:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14435562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vextant/pseuds/vextant
Summary: Natasha says Steve has to dye his hair if they're going to be on the lam. Steve doesn't really know what he's in for.Set pre-Infinity War. No spoilers. Just a little fluff to lighten the mood.





	Butterscotch Brown

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nik_Fic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nik_Fic/gifts).



> I nearly called this "Don't be Suspicious" after one of [one of the funniest moments on television](https://youtu.be/zTTow1tOnEo).
> 
> Inspired by the fact that all of Steve's figures are brunet now for Infinity War.

Steve had an oversized hoodie on over the top of his tac suit that made him feel especially frumpy as he scanned the aisles. Oversized even on  _ him _ , supposedly so that no one could see the sharp angles of the armor plating protecting his shoulders and back - that’s where Natasha said normal-sized shirts always stretched tightest. He’d never paid much attention: so long as he had the full range of motion, the rest really didn’t matter.

Natasha, in a pair of sweatpants (she called them “joggers”) and a crewneck sweater, pulled him by his wrist into an aisle. 

“Here, pick one.” she said, “And then let’s go.”

She scanned the shelves upon shelves of boxes she’d parked him in front of. It was hair dye, and he was staring down a line of nearly identical brunette women with words like “espresso” and “french roast” written on the front of each box in neat script. There was also a row of colored samples that Steve kind of hoped weren’t actual human hair.

He picked out two boxes at eye level, compared the shade printed on the box to the little samples. They were both brown but now that he looked he could see that they were in fact very, very different shades. The little samples were very helpful. 

“I’m assuming brown would be more inconspicuous.”

“You assume right.” Natasha was now crouching over the bottom shelf, underneath the blondes. She pulled out a packet and a bottle of what looked like paste.

Steve flipped the boxes over in his hands. He sees the photos comparing how different hair colors might end up looking. 

“What does that mean, ‘warm undertones’?” He says, mostly to himself, and looks back at the little samples again. “Oh.”

“It doesn’t matter, it never looks like the box anyway. Let’s get a move on.”

“Well if I’m stuck with it for a while, I don’t want it to look weird.”

“Pick the one that’s closest to your beard,  _ come on _ .” Natasha was standing the aisle now, products tucked under her arm, checking her phone with her free hand.

And here Steve thought all the hair on his head would be the same color naturally.

He ends up choosing a very light brown - he went with “butterscotch” over “ash brown” mostly because he liked the name better - and Natasha shows him how to mix the color and developer together. Steve uses far less than the recommended amount of color, figuring he could always commit more later once he finds out what this looks like.

In all honesty, he’s thankful Natasha was there to sit him down and do it for him. It was a little like a head massage, except the hotel bathroom didn’t have a vent so the smell built up and started stinging his eyes after a while. As he waits for it to set, he cuts her hair to shoulder length and helps her comb the bleach through it. 

He trusts Natasha to do her eyebrows without him. She dips a clean mascara brush into the bleach and pulls the hand mirror closer, the roots of her hair already fading to a golden blonde as he gets into the shower.

The towel he’s using to dry his hair is turning brown as he steps out of the bathroom, even though the water had run clear. He looks at it and sighs.

“How’s it look?” he says. Natasha’s on the couch, flipping through a magazine. There’s hardly any trace of red left in her neat, wet-combed hair, but he knows she’s going for - in her words - platinum, which means she’s leaving it in far longer than the little instructional packet recommended.

She gives him one look and her eyebrows shoot up to her hairline in a rare look of shock.

Steve’s heart sinks, “No, Nat, c’mon.”

He’d spent so much time agonizing over the color and now he looks like an idiot anyway. He should’ve known that growing it out would be enough. And no one expected the former Captain America to have a beard anyway. He would’ve been incognito enough without it.

“Relax, I’m fucking with you. It looks fine.”

“You sure?” Steve runs his fingers through it and looks at himself in the bedroom mirror. His hair almost touches the tips of his ears, which is something he hadn’t really noticed before. He definitely doesn’t look like himself. He looks rough, but in a good way. The farther from clean-cut he can get, the more invisible he becomes.

But she’s right - it looks fine. 

“Well. Let’s hope it dries a little lighter.”

Steve rolls his eyes at her, and she looks back down at her magazine.

“You, Natasha Romanoff, can go fuck yourself.” He heads back into the bathroom to hunt for a comb. He hears Natasha laugh behind him, and a rustle as she turns the page.

**Author's Note:**

> Come yell with me on [tumblr](https://vextant.tumblr.com/).


End file.
